


Melt With You

by punkpasta



Series: I Melt With You [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drunken Confessions, First Kiss, M/M, also featuring some random kid named james that i made up for drama, angst? i dont know her, background benverly, background kaspbrough, look i am tired of grumpy angsty stozier, second chapter is all fluff, theyre high school seniors bc i am a high school senior tbh, underage smoking/drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpasta/pseuds/punkpasta
Summary: Stan and Richie love each other. So maybe it took a little tequila to figure it out?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i just wanted to publish something because i havent in a while. yay for drunken confessions of love

He’d woken up to Stan’s alarm going off and Stan himself rolling out of bed, pulling the blankets off of the other boy. Richie blinked in the sunlight, trying to look at Stan as he slid himself into his clothes.

“There’s two hours before school starts and it takes you maybe ten minutes to walk.” Richie grumbled. He grabbed handfuls of the blanket and wrapped it around himself. Stan was already putting on his pants, and Richie was nearly naked and curled into a half-moon shape under the comforter.

“I like to be prepared. Get up.” Stan paused in his dressing ritual and looked over the lump on his bed. _Richie, barely clothed, in my bed, in the morning, sober._ Richie looked up through the hair flopped over his face. It was hard to remember, sometimes, a time when he didn’t love Stan. And while Stan never forgot the time he had spent pretending not to love Richie, he didn’t often forget the night he’d learned Richie might love him back.

It had been six months ago when the losers had learned that Stan did not mix well with tequila.

They had piled into Richie’s car- Stan being dragged by Bev toward the mop of hair leaning out of the driver’s window. Stan had slid himself into the front seat, forcing Beverly to fold herself into the backseat.

They had gotten through almost four songs from the scratchy mixtape, with enough time for Beverly to complain about her seat situation and Stan to complain about most of the aspects of Richie’s grimy car and unfortunate music choices, when they pulled up outside the house. There was no mistaking which of the ranch houses was the party location- it was barely dark out, and there were already people hanging from the windows and trash littering the lawn. Richie skidded into a parking space and braked hard, throwing Beverly into the back of Stan’s seat. Stan released his vice grip on the sides of his seat and pulled himself out of the car. Richie had already thrown on the parking brake and hopped out of the driver’s seat to extend an arm to Beverly, assisting her out of the car with a mock british butler shtick. He escorted her across the lawn and up the front steps.

“Meet me on the porch in a few hours, Staniel?” Richie called over his shoulder. Stan sighed and picked his way over the garbage on the lawn and made his way through the crowded entryway and into the first available room- what he assumed had once been a dining room- though now it looked more like a makeshift speakeasy. A keg sat in the corner, and various half-filled bottles and plastic cups littered what could have been a very nice table. Having resigned himself to a night of debauchery and possible mess, he figured getting drunk would be the best course of action. The closest bottle to him was rounded and fat and sporting a large cactus on the label. Stan scooped it up and splashed some into a cup. After declaring it drinkable, he returned the cup to the table and wandered off with the bottle itself.

Richie had made his way into the kitchen, scooping up a number of half finished drinks on his way, and had parked himself beside the kitchen island. He was breathing out smoke when the unfamiliar boy walked in. he was small, soft-looking, with a head of dark curls and dark eyes.

Richie smiled at the boy, leaning one elbow back on the kitchen island and bringing the joint back to his lips. The boy extended a hand.

“I’m James.”  the new boy said

“Richie.” he replied. James leaned closer.

“You gonna share?” James gestured to the joint with one hand and rested the other on the counter by Richie’s hip. Richie brought his hand to the other boy’s lips, letting him inhale.

James hopped back up on the counter. He grabbed richie by the arm, pulling him closer. He brushed the curls from Richie’s forehead, running his fingers along the other boy’s head and resting them on his neck.

Richie leaned in to kiss him. He journeyed along James’s lips, along his jawline and down his neck. He drew away when the boy under him stiffened

“You okay?” he asked. James was looking confusedly over Richie’s shoulder. Richie turned. Standing in the doorway, his jaw nearly hitting the floor and his face redder than Eddie’s trademark shorts, was a disheveled version of Stanley.

“What are you doin’?” he asked.

“What- I’m kissing a boy. What’s the dealio?”

“But. Richie.” Stan looked halfway between a frown of contempt and one of confusion.

“Woah, okay, okay. Let’s go outside for a minute,sweetheart.” Richie began steering a desperately intoxicated Stan towards the exit. James humphed, crossing his arms and hopping off the counter.

Forgetting James and his cute hair, Richie yanked Stan onto the porch and balanced him against the railing.

“What the hell, Stan? I’m not allowed to have fun? You’re not my mom.”

“You were-” Stan hiccuped, and Richie choked back a laugh. It was almost like a cartoon drawing of a drunk person. “Don’t laugh. It’s serious. Serious business. You were kissing on a boy in the kitchen.” Stan frowned, intently focused on what he was saying.

“I’m allowed to kiss on boys in kitchens.”

“I don’t want you to kiss other boys in kitchens!” Stan grabbed Richie’s shirt. Richie had fallen silent. It was unusual for him to stop talking normally, but he often clammed up when something shocking happened- in part because there wasn’t a joke at hand.

“Other boys?” Richie wasn’t the world’s most perceptive person. Stan wasn’t the worlds drunkest, but he certainly wasn’t as inhibited as usual.

“Yeah.”

“As opposed to, what, kissing you?”

Stan looked at the now-empty bottle of tequila still in his hand, then back up at Richie. Enough liquid courage- or liquid stupidity- was seeping into his body to essentially erase everything he’d been ignoring for- shit, for as long as he could remember.

Stan opened his mouth.

 

Richie Tozier was not sober. He wasn’t sober often, but tonight he was distinctly aware of how not-sober he was.

He stood on the porch of a stranger’s house, immune to the september chill in the air, hearing words come out of his mouth without being entirely sure why he had said them.

“As opposed to, what, kissing you?”

Richie held his breath. The party behind him was little more than an echoing rhythm, a backdrop to the moment unfolding around him.

Richie hadn’t wasted energy on trying to stop being in love with Stan Uris. he mostly focused on trying to distract himself- with booze, with blunts, with other boys in poorly decorated kitchens at parties on Saturday nights. It was easier to believe that Stan- his ever-present partner in crime, the one who told him to stop whatever he was about to do but let him do it anyway, to see how it played out- would never like him like That. Stan wasn’t the kind of boy to like other boys like That, right?

 

So Richie wasn’t sober, and Stan wasn’t sober. Beverly wasn’t, either, but she’d figured out on her own that she should leave the boys alone.

It was late September in Maine, and neither of them had brought their jackets outside- Richie’s was hanging from a kitchen cabinet and Stan’s was carefully hung on the coat rack. He could have easily stepped inside and grabbed it.

Stan blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, paused with his lips parted. Richie’s eyes stuck on Stan’s mouth.

Stan closed his mouth. Richie pulled one lip between his teeth, and Stan could feel the rational, conserved part of his brain shut down and the part that was saturated with alcohol take over.

He kissed him, wrapping one hand around the back of Richie’s head and tangling his fingers in the curls. Richie gasped, his hands flying to Stan’s shoulders. He slid his hands down Stan’s back, pulling him closer, leaning him into the railing. They broke apart, Stan’s hand dropping down to Richie’s arm.

“Are you okay?” Richie was gentle, for once.

“Yeah.”

“Are you- I mean, do you- did you mean that?” Richie stammered, noticing his hands still resting on Stan’s narrow hips and pulling them back to his own pockets.

“I think I’m drunk.”

Richie’s face fell. He slouched back into himself, involuntarily retreating into the shell he was used to filling.

“No…. wait, Richie.”

“It’s cool. I tend to have this effect.” Richie fluffed his hair.

“Richie.”

“Hey, I’m flattered. I’m your favorite gay experiment.”

“Richie.” Stan grabbed the other boy’s hand. Richie said nothing. Stan opened his mouth, closed it again. He turned around and leaned over the railing and vomited.

“Great.” Richie grabbed Stan under the arms and tried to drag him back upright.

Beverly had probably helped him get Stan to the car, and probably decided everyone was going to take a nap before driving home. When he tried to think back, the next thing he remembered about that night was waking up in the front seat of his car outside Stan’s house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a meadow past the Hanlon farm that the losers sometimes use for picnics. Richie and Stan use it to park their car sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, The Song From the Title.

“you’re late.” Eddie didn’t look up from his desk as Richie slid into the seat next to him. 

“Went driving with Bev last night. Good old-fashioned teen movie shit.” Richie slumped into the seat and pulled his slightly crumpled notebook out of his bag. The notebook’s pages were a bit wrinkled, but the notes were surprisingly legible and logical. Stan and Richie had spent at least a week figuring out how to make notes that would get the information into Richie’s head, and translating Stan’s notes into their new system. 

Eddie was the kind of student who just wrote down everything on the whiteboard and then added the teacher’s comments underneath. 

Richie didn’t pay attention much in class that day-  _ ma nishtanah, _ Stan would say. Richie waved to the narrow figure approaching the car, quickly dropping the rest of his cigarette on the ground and grinding it out with his sneaker. Stan frowned, stepping around Richie and opening the passenger door of the once-white Corolla. Richie knew Stan wouldn’t kiss him after he smoked, and it was most of his motivation to quit. 

“Afternoon, hotcakes.” Richie slid into the driver’s seat and clicked on his seatbelt.

“That’s a new one.” 

“I’m diversifying. So you don’t get bored. It’s in the latest Cosmo.”

“Cosmo said to call your boyfriend hotcakes?” Stan gave Richie his best “are you sure about that?” look, but the other boy was busy trying to reverse out of the narrow spots in the school’s rundown parking lot. 

They pulled up in front of the school, Richie doing the bait-and-switch driving away gag as Ben tried to climb into the backseat. 

They dropped him off with the same trick- a favorite of Richie’s, every time Ben tried to step out Richie would nudge the car forward and then brake hard, until Stan hit him with the back of one hand and Richie let Ben out of the car, with a shout of “Forgive me, Benny!”

“I don’t know why I tolerate you.” Stan frowned again. Richie smirked. He accelerated along the street leading past Mike’s farm, cruising until he reached the dirt patch where the losers often went for picnics or to sit in Richie’s car. 

Richie shoved the car into park, cranking down his window. Stan tipped his seat back, resting his head on his hands

“What the fuck is that.” Stan pointed his nose at a concerning stain on the car’s ceiling over the backseat. “What did you do to your car?”

“More like what did you do to my car.” Richie leaned around his seat to see the splotch in question.

“I did nothing!”

“That’s all you, Stanathan.” Richie grinned as realization dawned in Stan’s eyes. He sat up, turning toward the boy sprawled across the driver’s seat.

“Richard. That’s disgusting.”

“You didn’t think it was disgusting last weekend. In fact, I remember you quite enjoying the-”

“Clean your fucking car. Please. For my sanity.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie sighed. “Anyways. Business to discuss. Eddie-”

“Anyway. Anyways isn’t a word.” Stan cut in automatically.

“Something is up your ass today, Stan.”

“Nothing’s up my ass, it’s grammar.” 

“Babe.” Richie reached across the divider between the seats and grabbed Stan’s hand.

“I’m serious, nothing’s wrong. I mean, there’s a huge test coming up in my math class but other than that-”

“Okay, good good. Just making sure. So like I was saying,” Richie immediately began talking a mile a minute, “Eddie’s birthday is coming up and, you know, it would make sense to let Bill handle that but we all know Bill can’t plan a party to save his life-”

“Because you can?” 

“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it. Anyway.” Richie paused to emphasize the correction, and Stan smiled. “Bill’s idea of a party is going to Mike’s old barn and drinking something other than cheap beer, so someone else has to plan the party. I was thinking you and Bev could do it? Maybe some kind of weird garden party picnic. With pastel tablecloths and really small sandwiches.”

“I can make tiny sandwiches, but what makes you think Eddie wants a garden party?”

“He’s gay.” 

“You are gay. You are in a gay car with your gay boyfriend, whom you are in a gay relationship with planning a party for your first gay crush.” 

“Eddie would love a garden party. He’d have an excuse to wear cute little pants and some cute little floral shirt and little fucking shoes.”

“He always wears little shoes.” Stan smiled. Richie rolled his eyes behind his glasses. 

“Look, just suggest garden party to Bev when she asks you to help plan.”

“Why don’t you suggest garden party to Bev?” Stan mimicked Richie’s tone

“I am a misunderstood genius-” Stan stifled a laugh and Richie kept speaking- “and Beverly would take it more seriously coming from you.”

“Is this why you drove out to the spot? To talk about Eddie’s birthday party?”

“No, you dink.” Richie collected his limbs from the sprawled position he had adopted and leaned over Stan’s arm. He unceremoniously crashed his face into Stan’s, the other boy bracing himself against the door and tangling a hand in Richie’s curls instinctively. Richie flung his body over the partition, shoving Stan into the door.

“Wait, wait” Stan pushed Richie back

“Huh?” Richie’s glasses hung off the end of his nose. He shifted his weight, giving Stan room to breathe and shift himself back to the middle of the seat. Richie leaned back into the dashboard, his knees resting on the edges of Stan’s seat. 

Richie turned his top half and punched the radio on. 

“Are you serious? Baby got Back?” Stan frowned again- Richie smiled at the wrinkles between Stan’s eyebrows.

“I don’t control the radio, Stanathan.”

“Do you think calling me ‘Stanathan’ is going to make me want to keep kissing you?” the cute furrows vanished from Stan’s forehead and Richie lamented a bit internally- he’d fallen in love with a frowning boy, with the face Stan made when Richie said something stupid. It was the face Stan most often made at Richie, anyway. 

“No, but it’s not like you could resist this.” Richie smiled. It had been that crooked smile, that I say the things I say to make you laugh smile, that Stan had noticed himself getting stuck on back in middle school- he’d thought about that smile sometimes, catching himself gazing at Richie as the other boy got off a good one at Bill or Eddie’s expense. 

“I could. I choose not to because I’m weak.” Stan reached past Richie to switch over to whatever Richie had left in the tape deck even though the offending song was nearing its end. 

“Romantic.” Richie laughed, lifting himself off the dashboard and sitting on Stan’s thighs. The tinny radio speakers filled the car with new-wave. Richie hummed along with the song, “There’s nothing you and I won’t do-”

“Shh,” Stan pulled Richie’s face until it was level with his, their foreheads almost touching. His hands had found their way back into Richie’s curls.

“You criticize my music, you make me stop serenading you, you get your fingers all in my hair, and you don’t kiss me? This is Chinese water torture.”

“If it was chinese water torture don’t you think there’d be water involved? And maybe Chinese people?” 

“Shut up-” Richie barely finished speaking before Stan had moved their faces together, pressing his lips against Richie’s. The sun fell through the car windows like gold. Stan reached down between his seat and the door, yanking on the lever and letting their combined weight push the seat into its furthest reclining position. Outside, the sun lowered itself toward the green-black hills on the horizon, giving the car an orange halo. Both boys weren’t paying attention to the song as it started to fade into the last chorus-  _ I'll stop the world and melt with you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it still a thing to mention the song lyrics belong to the artist and not me? it's Melt with You by Modern English. its a jam. a classic.

**Author's Note:**

> Smash the fuck out of my tumblr mlmtrashmouth !!!


End file.
